Part 29. Hospital Happenings with Scott

I swear sometimes my brain’s sole purpose is to drive me crazy, while my heart’s purpose is to bring me comfort. How those two organs reside in the same body is beyond my comprehension. In a way, this post is about letting go of the former for the latter. This happened somewhere during the worst migraine I have ever experienced, and the subsequent kidney biopsy the Friday of my hospital stay.

That Friday did not go as planned. A biopsy first thing in the morning turned into a late afternoon affair, because I needed more platelets and a lower blood pressure reading before they could do the procedure. This may not seem to be a big deal, but it meant no food or water for close to 24 hours. I don’t do well without food. Instead, I received a bag of platelets in the morning, which looked amazingly similar to chicken bone broth, and was fed an abundance of blood pressure medicine and diuretics throughout the day. By the time I went in for the biopsy, my head felt like it wanted to explode. The migraine continued well past the biopsy which is where the story of Scott and my heart began to take shape.

Canon Beach March 2017

Scott, my son, spent every waking hour with Wes and me in the hospital. He walked the halls with us, played sixty-seven games of Rummy with us, retrieved needed items when I realized I was out. Unfortunately, he also got to witness his mother being wheeled into an operating room, experiencing  excruciating migraine pain, and vomiting because of said pain. Back in my room, post biopsy, he gently encouraged me to try eating. He cut up an apple; opened some crackers; held the cup so I could drink. He was doing whatever he could to bring me comfort. Quiet and subdued, I knew he was sad and worried and had been all week.

I had been fortunate enough to be without a roommate since Mary Ellen left me Thursday morning, but Friday night, feeling vulnerable after the biopsy, I didn't want to be alone. I wanted Wes or Scott to stay with me, and before Wes could say, “I’ll stay,” Scott volunteered. I could see Wes struggling with this, wanting to be the good father and the good husband who stays with the wife when she is in need. When Scott briefly left the room, I gently said to Wes, “Let him be the one who stays. He wants to do this for you as much as me. He wants to be able to give you a break.” Wes let that settle in and Scott became my roommate, sleeping in the recliner next to me all night.

The following morning, my headache much improved, breakfast eaten, Scott and I waited for Wes to arrive. He sat at the foot of my bed, one hand rubbing my feet, the other arm resting on the end of the bed propping up his head.  “Do you know what I do to deal with my sadness?” he said.

My heart began to break. “No, what?”

“I spend hours on the internet researching alternative ways to treat cancer.” My heart broke open some more. “Would you be interested in what I found,” he continued, “I could send you the links?”

“Sure.” I said. “What did you find?”

He shared the various therapies. Some I had known, others I didn’t. As I listened, I realized, or rather some higher force was making me realize, how important this moment was. It was just Scott and me. My son was choosing to share his pain about me and how he tries to manage it. Part of me wanted to rush in and make him feel better and, honestly, make me feel better. That’s what moms do. Another part kept telling me to just listen. He has a right to his pain and to deny him his pain was to deny him as a person. I was getting an opportunity to see what happens when you just hold a space for someone else to share what needs to be shared. I allowed my heart to break open fully and it was difficult letting that physical pain be there. We kept quietly chatting, he kept rubbing my feet, and all the while I was aware of the help I was receiving to keep the space open for him to be who he needed to be in that moment.

Later, when I reflected on that morning I realized that a broken open heart is where our humanity lies, where true intimacy happens, as the space created invites connection and compassion. When our heart breaks we often close it back up with positive platitudes like, “Oh. I’ll be ok.” or “Don’t worry!” Heartbreak physically hurts, but sometimes those statements inadvertently send the message that your feelings don’t matter, or, your pain is too hard to witness and for me to feel, which is like closing a door to intimacy. 

I took from that day a mantra going forward.

Let me be able to just listen and BE with another while his/her feelings are being shared. Let me hold a space for them so they know it is safe to be with me and safe to have these feelings. Let humanity exist within us to be shared and held with reverence and love.

Some days I do better than others. Some days I realize the one who needs me to listen to me is me; particularly when my brain is shouting louder than my heart. But that Friday in the hospital my heart won and gave me one of the most profound life lessons and one of the most cherished moments I’ve ever had with my son. Another moment of gratitude for my hospital stay.

Part 28. Hospital Happenings with Mary Ellen

Never for a moment think staying in the hospital means you’ll get much rest. Casinos and hospitals are the two environments that never sleep. Lights are on, people are talking, machines are beeping, buzzing, and ringing - and they both take your money!

My room number at the hospital was 715D; the “D” is for door. 715W was my room, too; the “W” is for window; I had a roommate. Having a roommate made sleeping even more problematic. Two sets of doctors, nurses, and aides poking and prodding you for information. My second day in the hospital, the day with Dr. Evil, my roommate got discharged and I was left with most of the day having the room to myself (with Wes of course). I went to sleep that night so sure I was going to get more rest because I was by myself.

At 2:15 in the morning the door opened, light streamed in, and three caregivers talking in normal voices, wheeled in my next roommate. She was apparently very sensitive to being poked and prodded. Her name was Mary. I became fully awake with a scream, “OW, OW, OW! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!” as they tried to access her veins to put in an IV. She was not happy; and now, nor was I. “Are you kidding me??” I thought to myself, “Can’t they all try to be a little quieter? Can’t they see someone might be trying to sleep?” I was angry and feeling put upon. Because of the curtain between the beds I could not see anyone.

“What is your name?” I heard them ask her, apparently wanting to understand her mental capacity.

“WHAT?” I heard her respond loudly. “I DON’T HAVE MY HEARING AIDS IN.”

"OMG!" I thought to myself. "She is hard of hearing, too!?"

Another voice, whom I found out later belonged to her grandson, Chris, said to the caregivers, “She is hard of hearing,’” and to his grandmother, “THEY WANT TO KNOW YOUR NAME.”

“Oh" then, "ELLEN”, she responded. Understandably, there was a quiet pause from the caregivers because the white board at the end of her bed said Mary. Her grandson rescued them, “Her name is Mary Ellen, but she goes by Ellen.” I imagined a nod of their head and a look of relief.

“What is your birthday?”

“WHAT?’ she asked. 

“WHAT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY?” They said more loudly, getting into the rhythm of what was going to be required to communicate with her.

“JULY 3RD, 1919,”  She responded matter-of-factly. At that moment I found myself going from anger to intrigue as I did the math. "98 years old! Wow!"

“DO YOU KNOW WHO THE PRESIDENT IS?”  

“YEAH,” After a long pause, “BUT I CAN’T REMEMBER HIS NAME,” she said dismissively. I smiled.

“WHAT MONTH IS IT?” 

She quickly responded, “DECEMBER!!” as if to say, “Dumb Ass.” My smile got wider. Sometime later, the caregivers left, leaving her and her grandson alone.

‘WHY AM I HERE?” I  would hear her ask.

“YOU PASSED OUT AT DINNER LAST NIGHT GRANDMA,” he would say loudly, but lovingly.

“OH.” she responded. “I  DON’T REMEMBER THAT.” Then, “YOU SHOULD GO HOME AND GET SOME SLEEP, I’LL BE OK.”

“THAT'S OK GRANDMA, I’M GOING TO BE HERE ALL NIGHT.”

“OH….ALRIGHT THEN.”…”BUT IT CAN’T BE COMFORTABLE.”

“I’M GOOD GRANDMA.”

A few hours later the same exchange would take place. ‘WHY AM I HERE?” “YOU FAINTED AT DINNER GRANDMA.” “OH”…I lay in my bed smiling, soaking up her grandson’s kindness, and the love I could feel between the two of them.

In the morning the doctor came by to chat with Ellen and her grandson.

He said, “Good morning! Your test results indicate your heart is beating too slowly and…”

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. I DON’T HAVE MY HEARING AIDS IN?”

He tried again, “YOUR TEST RESULTS INDICATE YOUR HEART IS BEATING TOO SLOWLY CAUSING YOU TO FAINT. WE THINK YOU SHOULD HAVE A PACE MAKER PUT IN.” He then preceded to explain what the pacemaker would do and how the procedure worked ending with the gory details of wires threading down into her heart.

Ellen responded, “I DON’T THINK I WANT THAT.”

Her grandson, Chris, tried to clarify, “GRANDMA, A PACE MAKER WILL HELP.  THIS TIME YOU HAPPENED TO BE AT A TABLE. WE ARE CONCERNED THAT NEXT TIME YOU COULD FALL IF YOU ARE STANDING UP.”

“THAT’S WHY I HAVE A WALKER!” she confidently and proudly responded.

“YOUR HEART IS BEATING TOO SLOWLY GRANDMA; THAT'S WHY YOU FAINTED AT DINNER; AND THAT'S WHY THEY WANT TO PUT THE PACEMAKER IN.” He, too, reiterated what a pacemaker does.

“OH, I DON’T WANT THAT… BUT YOU WANT ME TO HAVE IT DON’T YOU?”

I heard him sigh, as if to gather his thoughts so he could most lovingly yet accurately share his honest feelings. “WE’RE CONCERNED ABOUT YOU FALLING AND THIS WOULD HELP GRANDMA, BUT I JUST WANT TO SUPPORT YOU IN WHAT YOU THINK IS BEST.” There was a pause as if she were giving it some more thought.

“NO, I DON’T WANT THAT. MAYBE NEXT TIME...IF I FALL.”

Her grandson eventually, and maybe a bit reluctantly, supported her in her decision. The doctor left to write up the discharge papers and it was the first moment I had with just the three of us. I said to myself. “Renee, say something now or you never will.”

“Chris, I just want to say what an amazing man you are in how you are with your grandma.” He emerged from behind the curtain.

Well, thanks,” he said with some hesitation, “I just wish I were more patient with her sometimes.”

“You were SO patient with her, and what I got to witness, the love between the two of you,  was a real gift for me, so thank you.” We chatted a bit longer while Ellen got dressed and he told me her story. When she was six years old her mother died and her father’s new wife didn’t like her causing Ellen to move in with an aunt. Ellen married at sixteen to a man she later called, “A drinker and a stinker!” Sometime in the 1940s, rid of him, through divorce or death I don’t know, she ended up marrying Chris’s grandfather. They never had children but her new husband had a son which was Chris’s father. She now lives with Chris and his wife,  and as he said, “It took us three years to convince her to move in and we had to make her believe it was her idea. She’s fiercely independent and strong!” 

Mary Ellen

At that moment Ellen emerged from behind the curtain with her walker. She was clad in her gray, stretch, baggy elastic waist pants, a white turtle neck and her red felt Christmas vest with the green felt Christmas tree on the front - all 4’8” of her. She was probably taller at one point, but she’s a bit hunched over the walker now. Her head rests on her shoulders. Somewhere in those 98 years her neck got swallowed up. She has a head of white hair on her that, had a granddaughter been with her rather than a grandson , it might not have been sticking out in so many directions. Her nose and ears have had 98 years to continue to grow and they have taken advantage of everyone of them. She was beautiful! As she walked past the end of my bed she paused, turned her head slightly and said, “I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER,” in a voice that might indicate she had smoked for a few decades. I smiled and thanked her. She turned her head forward again, and confidently, but slowly walked her way out the door and out of my life. 

Had I chosen to stay self-absorbed the night Ellen began her short stay as my roommate, I would have missed out on the love, the extraordinary beauty, that was being played out a few feet away from me. I feel so fortunate to have been able to experience the two of them together and still think of them today. A smile always comes to my face. At the time, I was able to see the gift that they were. Later in the week, I would come to see a far larger role they were to play in my life. But that’s another story. 

Yes, as I reflect on that night it is obvious I was in the hospital…but it became obvious I must have been in a casino, too, because I feel like the luckiest person in the world to have hit the jackpot when Mary Ellen briefly became my roommate. Abundance and love take many forms.

Part 23. Of Doubt and Dogs

I find myself in unfamiliar territory these past couple weeks. I feel a bit sorry for myself for a variety of reasons. Each could be its own blog post. Where to even start.

My cancer marker went up. My doctor is not worried at all, says I’m doing great, and that it's not uncommon for this to happen with the type of chemotherapy I'm on.  it can go up before it goes down. Same thing happened when I started this process last August. Funny how a number can have such power - power to make me happy and power to make me not so happy. Some vertical, horizontal, and curved scratches placed in specific ways form a symbol to which I then attach meaning, and allow this meaning to make me feel a certain way. Why do I let it? It’s just a number, and if anything, it really only represents the past, a point in time indicating something that is no longer true in this moment, today. If I can let some scratch marks control me, it makes me wonder what else does.

A friend died last week. She had been living with cancer for twenty years, of which thirteen were with metastatic breast cancer. She was a “drip buddy”. I learned that term through her; a term for those of us who spend a day a week together getting to know one another over various chemicals dripping through our systems. I didn’t know her well, or for very long. but she was the kindest, most courageous person I have ever met. Light radiated from her being, and she represented possibility, miracles, and hope. I always thought she would be there…she was part of Thursdays as much as Dr. Chue and his staff. If Julie is gone it makes me wonder about possibilities, miracles, and hope.

My hair is falling out…again. I should be used to this by now but I’m not. It seems like such a long time since I’ve had hair that I got to keep - two years. In about a week I’ll be bald, have adjusted to it, and wonder what the fuss was about.  I’ll startle myself looking in the mirror, seeing my brother stare back. I’ll put on more make-up, a wig or hat, my brother will disappear and life goes on. I remind myself that this IS LIFE, this is not a temporary detour within my life. If losing my hair for the third time STILL brings me down it makes me wonder how many more times I’ll be brought down going through this process.

After eight weeks of this round I’m tired. No sleep on Thursdays, energy of a landscape architect on Fridays, recover on Saturdays and climb back up until Thursday comes back around again. I’m tired of the lack of sleep, flu-like symptoms of the immune boosting drug, headaches, wanting to nap because of the low red blood cell count, extra weight because of the steroid and lack of exercise, blah, blah, blah. Tired. In August it will be a year. I tell people that Dr. Chue’s protocol is like the tortoise in the story of the tortoise and the hare. Right now, I feel more like the hare who wants to sleep by the side of the road. It makes me wonder if I have the required constitution of the tortoise, a necessity for success with Dr. Chue’s protocol.

I hadn’t been wanting to meditate which is a sure sign I should. It usually means something is wanting to be released that my ego would prefer to keep. This morning I sat in my usual spot and forced myself. Three dogs quietly sat with me - our two plus our best friends’, whom we are dog sitting. I meditated and I wrote. I let the unwanted feelings rise to the surface which became the content for the above few paragraphs. As the feelings rose to the surface, they were accompanied by a word; a word that permeated every one of those unwanted feelings. I underlined it, which means I have usually gotten to the root of the issue - Doubt. For the first time in a long time Doubt had reentered my being. 

Doubt as to whether I would heal from this when I saw my number go up. For eight years, on some level, I have known I would heal from this. I would have learned what I was supposed to learn and share it with others. I think that’s what we are all here to do through our experiences. The past couple weeks Doubt’s voice says, “Maybe you’re full of shit!”

Doubt about the possibility for healing with Julie’s passing. I usually don’t give a lot of credence to the surety of scientific “facts”. No miracle ever happened in that arena. I choose to see the world through Quantum Mechanics/Epigenetics/Spirituality and know the power of my beliefs on “reality”. And yet, when Julie passed, I paused. I believed she would always be here.

Doubt about my stamina and whether I have what it takes to go the distance with this process.

One of the things you learn in personal coaching is to always be aware of everything going on in and around the conversation you are having with a client - this includes the sudden intrusion of seemingly unrelated noises - like a siren passing by or dogs barking. As I was contemplating how Doubt had permeated more aspects of my being than I realized, all three dogs, who had been quietly sleeping, simultaneously elevated from their spots, dashed out of the room, loudly and frantically barking. Perhaps you heard them? I couldn’t help but wonder at the timing.

The Mod Squad

“What does Doubt have to do with dogs barking?” I wrote in my journal.

Both represent a lot of noise occupying and irritating the space in which you find yourself. Both come from a place of protection. The dogs were barking at the neighbor's dogs. They thought they were protecting our house; their territory. Isn’t that the role we give Doubt, too? Protection from disappointment and unwanted future possibilities? And like dogs, if I allow Doubt to think it is actually protecting me it will continue barking. I got up from my chair and removed the dogs from the room in which they could see the neighbor's dogs. The barking stopped immediately.

"How do I get Doubt to stop its barking? I came across this writing by Osho:

“The whole work of meditation is to make you aware of all that is “mind” (like doubt) and misidentify yourself from it. That very separation is the greatest revolution that can happen to man…..But this is possible only if the master is awake. Right now the master is asleep. And the mind, the servant, is playing the role of master…There is no blissfulness more precious than freedom, than being a master of your own destiny.” 

I have seen dog owners who seem to be at the mercy of their dogs. I have experienced being at the mercy of my mind with it’s endless, unhelpful thoughts controlling how I feel; doubt being the latest version. After reading that passage, I realized I had been asleep and my mind had been my master. I don’t stop the doubt from barking, I merely put it in a room and close the door. It can bark all it wants, but I’m not impacted. I don’t need doubt to go away to feel better, I just need to make sure the door stays shut. I remind myself that just because I “thought” something doesn’t make it true, important, valuable, or helpful. It’s just a thought not my master.

I finish this post mostly back in familiar territory, back to who I am. The dogs are quiet again, and periodically, I check the door to the room where doubt resides. Fortunately, it is still shut.

Part 22. Pop Quiz

I’m back at school, pulling a steroid induced all nighter as I write this. Yesterday was my fourth infusion after a three month break that had felt like summer vacation. It has been good to see familiar faces, meet new folks and wonder about those I have yet to see that I used to see weekly last fall. Yesterday was a light day, meaning I was going to be done around 1:30, which was exciting as I anticipated how I wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon! What I wasn’t expecting was the pop quiz at the end of the day, given by a teacher whose name I will never know, in the parking lot of the clinic, as Wes and I were about to leave. I failed the test miserably.

It actually started a bit before that.

When the nurse unplugs the drip line from my port upon completion of the infusion, I waste no time packing up to make my exit. Psychologically, the minute I leave the building my week off between infusions starts. Physically, I feel drugged and I prefer to be home for the wearing off process. Yesterday I was done at 1:40, but Wes wanted to wait to see if we could connect with some good friends who were still in their appointment with Dr. Chue. I was fine to wait - until about 2:05 when I said, “Wes, I have about 5 minutes left in me before I’m going to want to leave. I feel drugged and want to go home.” He was accommodating, and we made our way down to the parking lot at 2:10 only to find that a white Audi Q7 SUV was parked illegally and blocking our car. There was no way we could get out. Not content to wait, and with Wes’s help, I decided to go into every office of the three floor building to find out who owned that car. Never mind the parking attendant had attempted this already. We narrowed it down to two possibilities; both were therapist’s offices who, under no circumstances, were going to allow their clients to be disturbed. At the end of our canvassing, it was 2:30 and none of these clients were going to be done until 3:00. I was not a happy camper. 

Our car is in front of the white Audi SUV...hard to see.

Back down in the parking lot, we looked through the windows of the white Audi SUV to see if we could get any clues as to who owned this vehicle. Why this was important I don't know other than it allowed me to begin forming a judgement on the clueless moron who was blocking us in. Perhaps we expected to see a name tag on the seat. “Hi, my name is Joan and I’m in #302 upstairs.”  There were two tennis rackets in the backseat, two partially drunk bottles of Evian water in the front, with two head bands hanging from the rear view mirror. I decided she was blond and had a french manicure...which means absolutely nothing. To my surprise there was an incredibly well behaved dog in the back of the SUV and the owner was thoughtful enough to have the sun roof open so the dog could get some air. This pissed me off because it was ruining my preconceived judgement of her. 

Angel: Firefly

We had at least a half hour to wait. I ran through a number of scenarios of how I was going to handle this. Every spiritual teacher I have ever followed would say none of them were in my highest interest. With the angel on one shoulder shrunk to the size of a firefly and the devil on my other shoulder grown to the size of Jaba the Hutt, it was a safe bet my highest interest wasn’t going to be part of the equation. I said to Wes, “You know that saying ‘when they go low, we go high’? Well, for me, today, when they go low, I’m going lower.”

Devil: Jaba the Hutt

I decided I wanted her to feel bad. In fact, I was going to sit on her bumper until she came out, and when she did, I was going so low I was going to guilt her with the “Cancer Card.” The firefly tried to reason with me, “Remember Renee, you wrote a whole post on how wonderful it was to be in Ireland where no one knew you had cancer and how liberating that was!” Jaba the Hutt spoke for me, “So?” While Wes was on the phone helping the parking attendant get the ok to get this car towed, I waited.

At 3:10 she showed up. Tall, very thin, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, baseball cap perfectly situated on her head, a vest zipped all the way up and a scarf around her neck. She walked quickly, erectly and rigidly, perhaps because she had been told she was blocking in some cars. I did what I said I was going to do,  “After having been in chemotherapy ALL day I come down here and have to wait another hour because you have blocked our car!”  She was visibly uncomfortable, but without slowing down or making eye contact, she sort of shrugged her shoulders and said, “I thought it was a parking spot, I apologize.” And in her car she dove. “Well defended” I thought as she started up her car. Unsatisfied with the encounter, I found myself lifting my chin so the trajectory of my next words would easily flow up and over the side of the car, into the open sun roof and land perfectly in her ears, “How about some awareness when you park the car. Look up and notice the three cars you’re blocking!!’ Followed by, “Your apology lacked empathy!” I doubt the last lame comment made it through the sun roof as I was about 25 feet from her back bumper watching her pull away. I actually felt stupid yelling ridiculous comments at a car with windows rolled up that was speeding away.

On the way home Wes and I debriefed. Wes, giving her the benefit of the doubt, said, “You know, I noticed she was looking down towards her steering wheel as if maybe she was trying to compose herself.” Without missing a beat I said “She was probably checking her emails.” Not ready to forgive her yet I said, “She ought to ask for a refund from her therapist if that is how she is going to act immediately following the appointment.” Never mind what my behavior might indicate.

As we got farther away from the clinic my energy started to shift. I said, “You never know what she’s going through. Maybe she is stressed because she found out her husband is cheating on her, or she just got fired from her job.” Who knows why she would have been so distracted that she didn’t realize where she parked. I thought about all the times I was distracted when I was in the height of fear dealing with cancer. The time I left my purse in a Home Depot cart after unloading it, driving away and not realizing it until I got home. I never saw the purse again. Or the time I got our mail but left the mailbox wide open with the key still in it. Had a nice neighbor not delivered the key to my house I would still be wondering what happened to it seven years later.

Well Defended

We talked about how "well defended" she was in appearance, demeanor, and with her choice of words. I knew that feeling well. How many times was I like that in my relationships, particularly with Wes? Being vulnerable felt risky. Being at fault, at the mercy of the other felt scary. Well defended felt like the lesser of two evils. And yet I now find defensiveness intolerable because the nature of being defensive says the other, usually Wes, is my enemy. I’m defending, which precludes vulnerability and intimacy; good for battles, sports, and court rooms, not so good in relationships, which depend on intimacy for their health. I thought about how it felt to be on the receiving end of the well defended Audi SUV driver. No empathy, not being heard, she couldn’t even make eye contact. I didn’t like it...at all. I thought about Wes being on the receiving end when I was well defended. 

We pulled into a gas station about then and I looked him in the eye and said, “I’m so sorry for all those times you had to deal with me when I have been “well-defended”. He smiled, kissed me, got out of the car and filled the tank. We finally arrived home at 4:00.

Thank you to the woman/teacher in the white Audi Q7 SUV. I'm sorry for my lack of compassion. I’ll never know your name but you were a perfect mirror for me yesterday reminding me there is no difference between the two of us - I’ve been stressed, distracted to a fault, and most of all well-defended. May you be blessed with peace, love, and vulnerability. I wish you well.

Maybe I didn’t flunk the quiz after all!

Part 21. More Conversations with Grim

I am happy. Have been for a long time now. So, it came as somewhat of a surprise when I noticed the Grim Reaper peeking in my windows a couple weeks ago. It wasn’t like he was trying to break in and run off with me; more like he wanted some attention. He kept tapping on my windows; I kept closing the curtains. Finally, when the tapping turned into pounding, I threw open the curtains and the window and exasperatedly said, “What now!” 

I wasn’t sure why he was here. I had come to the realization that “fighting” anything in life was senseless and that included cancer and death. I had come to a really good space with the idea of dying whenever that was meant to happen...now...in twenty minutes...twenty months...or twenty years. It was in God’s hands; I was joyously living! I thought Grim would be proud of the acceptance I had come to which is why I was confused with his visit. Grim had an alternative point of view. “Wishy washy! You’re in a holding pattern. And you’re hedging your bets!” Now let me in!”

“Wishy washy?? Holding pattern?? Hedging bets??”

Curious, I opened the door and Grim stormed in. We sat down for a long conversation. (Most of the ensuing conversation became available to me because of what I learned in the podcast I had referenced in the previous post, David Manning’s “Cancer: A Mystical Initiation”.) Grim posed a question to me that David had pondered along his journey. “Look,” Grim said, “We don’t care if you live or die, you’re going to do the work either way. YOU have to decide. Do you want to live or do you want to die?”  Most people, including me, when asked that question consciously say, “Of course I want to live!” This time I thought, “what have I got to lose with exploring the idea that some part of me may have a different agenda.” I was surprised at what I discovered, or rather, rediscovered, because the information has been known to me for quite awhile, but I saw it in a new context with Grim’s (and David’s) help. It came down to two more points Grim had for me.

The first:  “Renee, do you have any long term problems or situations in your life that don’t seem to have a solution or, if they do, you don't like the solution?” He looked at me the way a parent looks at a child when they already know the answer to the question. “Most of you humans do, you know. It could be a long exhausting care of a loved one? Staying in a job or relationship you dislike but has its advantages? A chronic financial situation? chronic pain? addiction? to name a few.” 

With these, life can feel burdensome, heavy, sometimes intolerable. I thought about mine and knew to what he was referring; a couple things I have lived with for so long they began to feel a part of me rather than an experience I was having. I had quit thinking a solution existed. I looked at him and he continued,  “Because, if they do exist, death becomes a solution whether you realize it or not.” It made me think back to other times when I had had passing thoughts about dying and into my head would pop, “Well, if you die you don’t have to deal with that anymore!” as if I needed to find some benefit. A brief moment of relief and freedom would follow, but then, the thought would quickly pop out as fast as it had popped in…or so I assumed. Maybe it really didn’t pop out. Maybe I was actually shoving it down within me for the abhorrence of even seeing death as a possible solution to anything. I now see that some part of me, my soul maybe, was searching for any solution as a desire for freedom, for the abhorrence it has to being confined to human constructs of imprisonment.

I meditated on this longer, allowing for the thoughts of dying as a solution to stay front and center in my consciousness rather than shoving them down; to see where they wanted to take me. Eventually, I looked at Grim with his satisfied smirk on his face. “Thank you for making me aware of that aspect of myself, but no,” I said. “I do not want to die with any part of my being still held hostage to an habitual way of looking at the world. I choose to be excited and open to other possibilities I have yet to see. When I leave this world it will be with nothing still to be resolved. I will feel completely free while alive; not through death”. Satisfied with my answer, he nodded and proceeded with his second point.

“What emotion or energy is intolerable for you to feel?” he posed. Two years ago I wouldn’t have known the answer. In the past two years I have come to be able to answer that question with crystal clarity. “Disappointment.” I answered. I can’t stand it. Hate it. Disappointment has felt like death to me and it is extraordinary what I would do to not feel disappointed. The irony is not lost on me that my journey with cancer could easily be a journey with coming to a place of equanimity with disappointment.

“Most of you have an intolerable emotion,” Grim continued, “And if you discovered what it was you would be surprised how much it runs your lives, the amount of negotiation or distraction you do with yourselves to avoid it.”  For others it may not be disappointment. It may be guilt, abandonment, boredom, sadness, etc. Again, I meditated on what he was saying, the part about it running our lives. Eventually a light went on and I got it! I saw why he said I had been wishy washy and hedging my bets.

It goes something like this.  “If I can become completely comfortable with dying then I won’t be disappointed if I do.” “If I can become completely comfortable with dying then I won’t be disappointed if I commit fully to living yet end up dying from cancer anyway.” Never mind that in each scenario I’m dead and probably beyond feeling disappointed! When I saw the convoluted logic - avoiding disappointment by not fully committing to living - I laughed along with Grim. He gave me his knowing smile. “No,” I said, “I would much rather spend the time and energy working with disappointment so it no longer drives any part of my life! Again, thank you for making me aware of it!”

“My work is done.” he said and gathered his staff and left. Since the encounter I have become aware of two things.  

Life force energy. We all have it and it is palpable, within ourselves and noticeable within others. With a life threatening illness I have become acutely aware of how important it is to have EVERY fiber of my being in agreement about living so that as much of that energy is held within me and not spread out elsewhere - to seemingly unsolvable problems, to avoiding disappointment, to the past over regrets, to the future with worry, or to distraction by any means because the present doesn’t feel good. If I am not present, here, right now, then my life force energy is somewhere else. If I want to heal, my life force stays within me and is turned on to full capacity.

The second thing I have become aware of is a fire got lit within me to live, to be excited about possibilities yet discovered and to experience new heights of freedom. What has become intolerable is complacency and the rote, repetitive way I have looked at certain things in my life. I thank Grim for the rebirth I am feeling…no more “wishy washy, holding pattern, and hedging bets” for this one. I am free - watch out world!